


Even a Broken Clock

by mm_coconut



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-22 23:53:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mm_coconut/pseuds/mm_coconut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick is hit by a spell meant for Monroe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even a Broken Clock

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gryvon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryvon/gifts).



> Written in the [Grimm Exchange](http://grimm-exchange.dreamwidth.org/). More or less compliant with early S2 (which is when I started writing), but diverges from there. Thanks to [1729trix](http://1729trix.livejournal.com) and S for the beta.

The clock was on Monroe’s front step when he opened the door that morning.

He picked the clock up with both hands. It was about the size and heft of a large hardcover book. The wood was warped slightly with age and neglect in a way that didn’t bode well for the mechanism housed inside, the hour hand had been broken off at its base, and the minute hand was bent awry just enough to make him wince. There was no note about who it belonged to, or why they had given it to Monroe, and a quick search around the bushes near the door didn’t turn up any other clues. Cradling the clock in the crook of his arm, he shrugged and took it back inside.

He placed the clock carefully on his workbench and sat down in the chair to take a closer look. Whatever had happened to the clock was an utter travesty: it was clearly once a beautiful piece of workmanship. The wood had somehow caved in a little on one side—geez, was that water damage?—and the varnish on the dark wood was chipped away in large swathes. Several of the numbers had fallen off the clock face, and the delicately wrought minute hand was—

The doorbell rang, quickly followed by a flurry of loud banging.

"Monroe? Monroe, you in there? Open up, it’s me!"

Of course it was. Monroe huffed an irritated breath and went to open the door.

"What’s up, man? It’s too early in the morning for this; I haven’t even started my Pila—"

Nick pushed his way into the house gun-first as soon as Monroe opened the door.

"Monroe! Are you alright?" Nick was wild-eyed, hair a mess and clearly unwashed. He gave Monroe a brief once-over, looked around the area quickly, then darted towards the kitchen.

"Good morning to you too, dude!" Monroe called out, closing the door. "What the hell’s going on?"

"Are you alone?" Nick asked.

"Yeah, I’m alone! I wasn’t expecting any visitors for coffee this early, not even you." Nick checked the lock on the back door, and then went to look in the living room, still holding his gun out in front of him. "What are you—"

"I got a call from Adalind," Nick said, voice tight. He took a few seconds to look under the couch, what the hell, before he whipped around and headed towards the workroom. "She told me to check up on my…she made it sound like you were next. After Juliette."

"Whoa, _what_?" Monroe scuttled over to the fireplace and grabbed the iron poker. He held it straight out in front of him. "She’s sending an evil amnesia cat after me?"

"I don’t know." Nick stood in the middle of the workroom and turned in a slow circle, checking all the corners, before he took a deep, shaky breath and finally holstered his gun. "She didn’t exactly give me any details."

Monroe relaxed a little and dropped the poker—if Nick felt safe enough to put his gun away, it was probably okay to put down the pointy metal stick—and took in Nick’s disheveled appearance. He’d clearly just woken up: his hair was greasy and stuck up on one side, the t-shirt he was wearing was ratty and rumpled, and those streaks on his face were probably where he’d drooled on himself in the night. "You look awful," Monroe lied. "Now that we’ve determined that my home is feline-free, I’ll go make us some coffee."

"Thanks," Nick said, rubbing a hand over his tired face. He collapsed into the chair at the workbench, and he was still in the same position when Monroe came back with two cups of his caffeinated ambrosia a few minutes later. He handed Nick his usual mug: the dark blue one with the chipped handle. Nick drank carefully with a grateful moan, long and drawn-out, and Monroe cleared his throat.

"So, what’s the next step? Are you going to put me into protective custody again?"

Nick snorted. "By which you mean am I going to let Hank and his liquor cabinet babysit you again?" Monroe gave an unrepentant shrug. "I don’t know, Monroe. Adalind doesn’t seem the type to make empty threats, so I’d say she’s definitely planning something, but...I have no idea what it could be. All I know is that it’s going to be personal." Nick sipped his coffee thoughtfully, and Monroe could see him put on his Detective Burkhardt Face. "Did anything strange happen last night? Or this morning?"

Monroe gave a little start. "Oh, hey, there was something weird right before you came!" Nick sat up straighter, eyes sharp. "That little beauty was in front of my door when I went out to get the paper," Monroe said, gesturing at the clock.

Nick swiveled around in the chair to look at it. He stared at it doubtfully for a few long seconds before eyeing Monroe. "...beauty? Really?"

"Hey, it was clearly a work of art before someone trashed it!" Monroe said, feeling the need to protect its honor. "It’s not much to look at now, but it would have been exquisite when it was working. Trust me, I know my clocks."

"I know you do, Monroe," Nick said, poking at the crooked minute hand. "But I dunno, this one’s kind of— _ow, fuck_ —"

The minute hand, as it turned out, was razor-sharp along one edge. Nick stood up quickly, knocking over the chair and dropping his mug, his coffee spilling out over the carpet. "Shit," he hissed. He stared as blood welled up in a red line across his fingertip. "Shit, Monroe—"

Monroe heard the faint, sick sizzle of magic taking effect. They had time to look at each other for a brief, terrified second before Nick’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he fell to the floor.

* * *

By the time Monroe stumbled through the spice shop’s door with the clock in a wadded-up sweater in one hand and Nick slung around his shoulders in a fireman’s carry, Rosalee had cleared a Grimm-sized space on the front counter.

"Put him here," she urged, and Monroe heaved Nick’s body onto the surface. Rosalee pried up Nick’s eyelids and checked pupils with a flashlight, then opened his mouth and looked inside.

"No, no, it was his finger, it cut his finger," Monroe babbled. He unwrapped the clock from his sweater and set it near the cash register, then backed off and pointed an accusatory finger at it. "The clock, it cut him, and—and I think it was magic—"

"You told me over the phone, Monroe," she said, gentle but focused with laser intensity on Nick. She checked his neck for a pulse with one hand and hovered the other one over his slightly open mouth. Monroe jumped when she grabbed both his shoulders and started shaking him vigorously with much more strength than he had given her credit for. He winced when she bent low to Nick’s ear and shouted " **HEY, NICK** " at the top of her voice and jabbed him in the side with her fingers. When she slapped Nick across his unresponsive face once, then twice, hard enough to leave a livid red mark on each cheek, Monroe broke.

"It was supposed to be me," he said. He gripped the counter hard. "It’s supposed to be me lying there getting the crap slapped out of me, I shouldn’t have taken that stupid clock inside. It was a trap, of course it was a trap, I’m so _stupid_. It’s my fault—"

"Hey," Rosalee broke in sharply. "This is definitely not the time for self-pity. You can do that after we’ve saved him."

"Technically, its self-recrimination," Monroe started, but one pointed look from Rosalee shut him up.

"So," Rosalee said, and Monroe stood to attention. "From what I can see, it looks like it’s pretty close to the same spell Adalind put Juliette under, except probably tailored to your physiology." She pulled the clock closer to her to get a better look at it, and Monroe fought the urge to snatch it away from her. She pulled a swab out of a nearby jar and ran it along the edge of the minute hand, then dropped it in a vial waiting in a rack. The clear liquid inside fizzed briefly, and then turned an ominous red.

"Red," Monroe said. "Red, red, what does that mean?"

"It _means_ ," Rosalee said, giving him that look again, "that it is, in fact, a spell meant for a Blutbad." She turned around and started pulling jars and bundles from the shelves. "If that spell had been cast on a human, the victim would probably never wake up again." She ignored the broken noise Monroe made and set the ingredients in a neat row on the counter in front of her. "Fortunately, Nick is just a little bit more than human, so that should protect him from the worst of its effects." She lit the gas burner with the speed and practiced ease of someone completely in her element, then started adding ingredients to the flask suspended above the flame. "Also, the potion this time around should take only a fraction of the time to make."

"But what does that mean for Nick?" Monroe finally let himself look down at Nick’s face, which looked...pretty normal, actually. Like he was just taking a little nap. "Is he going to end up like Juliette? Is he going to completely forget her?" He swallowed hard. "Or me?"

"There’s no way to know until he wakes up," Rosalee said firmly. She added something to the flask that turned the bubbling liquid inside bright gold, and then turned the flame down. "Now we wait until it’s ready. Just a few more minutes."

It was at that point that Hank came through the door, jacket askew, sweaty and scared. "Is he," he said. "Did Adalind—is Nick—"

"The potion is almost done," Rosalee told him.

"And it’ll cure him?" Hank stepped up to the counter and looked Nick over. "He looks...normal." This was clearly not comforting for him, either. He looked between Monroe and Rosalee. "He’ll wake up?"

"We hope," Rosalee said.

"You _ho_ — dammit guys, we need to take him to a hospital! You saw what happened to Juliette. What if he forgets Juliette, too?"

"We don’t think that’s going to happen," Rosalee said. She turned the burner off and poured the contents of the flask into a beaker, swishing it around and letting it cool. "The spell was meant for Monroe, and there’s not much for Adalind to gain from Monroe forgetting Juliette."

"Wait, wait," Hank said, grabbing Rosalee's wrist. "So you actually have no idea what's going to happen to him if you give him whatever's in that glass?"

She gave him a hard, steady look. "I know that if he _doesn't_ drink this, your partner is never going to wake up again. So let go, now."

He let go.

Rosalee turned back to Nick and held his face steady with one hand. With the other, she carefully tipped the potion into his mouth, managing to avoid spilling even a single drop.

There was a brief moment in which no one moved or breathed.

Then suddenly Nick was coughing violently, rolling over and falling to the floor. There was a lot of yelling, a lot of pounding on Nick's back, and then finally the three of them managed to help Nick sit with his back against the counter, legs splayed out in front of him.

"Nick, do you remember me?" Monroe asked anxiously, crouched next to him, hands hovering uncertainly over his shoulders. "I mean—what do you remember?"

"What?" Nick asked, bewildered and red in the face, staring at Monroe. His mouth worked a little bit before he seemed to find his voice. "Who's Nick?"

"Okay," Rosalee said, standing up from her crouch and clapping her hands together once. " _Now_ we can take him to the hospital."

* * *

"So I'm Nick," Nick said, sitting up in his hospital bed, holding out his hand. "Apparently."

"I'm Juliette," she smiled, shaking his hand. "Nice you meet you again, Nick."

Oh geez, it was a meet-cute. They were the leads in the first act of a romantic comedy. Amnesiacs in love. It was so adorable Monroe's stomach hurt.

"Well, the doctor's cleared you to come home with me, as long as I keep an eye on your progress," Juliette said, then laughed. "God, this is so weird. I was in your same exact situation just a few months ago."

"Yeah, Hank and Monroe told me all about it," Nick grinned, disturbingly okay with absolutely everything. "But actually, I'd like to stay with Monroe, if that's okay with him."

All eyes in the room swiveled around to look at Monroe. He started spluttering on reflex.

"I, uh, pfft, what? Sure? If you—um, why?"

"You just seem the most familiar to me, even if I don't remember you," Nick said, completely open. Monroe tried hard not to show any reaction. "And from what you've told me, Juliette's had to live with a total stranger for the past few months—it seems a little much to ask her to share a house with me now that neither of us really knows the other one." Nick looked at him, waiting.

"I—of course, yeah. Mi casa, etcetera. My couch is pretty comfortable, and actually you've slept on it more than a few times before. You know you're always welcome to stay,” and Monroe snapped his stupid mouth shut.

Juliette slumped a little bit in relief, a tension that Monroe hadn't noticed leaving her body. "That would...that would be really great Monroe, thank you," she said, and turned to Nick, her expression guilty. "I'm so sorry, Nick. It's just...I haven't started remembering you yet, and things are still kind of weird and awkward, and now with you getting amnesia, too..."

"No, don't worry about it," Nick said, sincere. "I wouldn't want to put you in that situation." His smile was as wide and easy as Monroe had ever seen it.

* * *

"I'm sorry if this is a weird thing to say," Monroe said, straightening the blanket on the couch, "but you seem kind of—relaxed—about the whole amnesia thing. I can't say I've experienced it myself, but I just know I would be totally freaking out right now, if it were me."

Nick shrugged, stuffing a pillow into a pillowcase. "I know I should be feeling more disturbed about it, but some things seem really familiar. The shop, your car, the hospital. I don't remember being in any of those places, but I knew I'd been there before." He gestured around the living room with the pillow. "Especially your house. I get the feeling I've been here a lot." He dropped the pillow on top of the blanket and plopped down against the cushions with a little sigh, arms spread across the back, then froze. A grin spread slowly across his face. "In fact, I bet I sit exactly like this, in this exact spot on the couch, all the time."

Monroe swallowed. "Yup, that's...that's where you usually sit, all right."

"See? At this rate, I'll have my memory back before you know it," Nick crowed. "I'll be outta your hair in no time."

"You can stay as long as you want to," Monroe heard himself say. Crap. He stood up quickly. "Well, it's late, so I'll let you get your sleep. I'm kind of an early riser, but I'll try to keep quiet. "

"Goodnight, Monroe," Nick said, smiling. "And thanks again for letting me stay."

* * *

"Thanks for letting Nick stay with you," Juliette said, turning a mug in her hands. She'd brought over a large suitcase of Nick's things early in the morning. The three of them now sat at Monroe's dining room table, each nursing a cup of coffee. "It would have been twice as awkward with two amnesiacs in the same house."

"Especially since I was planning to find someplace else to stay, right?" Nick said. At Juliette's look of surprise, Nick continued, "That's a pretty big suitcase. It must have taken a while to pack and you really only had late last night and this morning to do it. If you _had_ packed it in that time, I'd expect everything inside to be sort of haphazardly thrown in, but everything inside is pretty neatly organized, and finding what I needed was pretty instinctive—as if I had packed it myself. Which suggests that I was planning on living somewhere else for a while."

Nick took a smug little sip of coffee as Monroe and Juliette stared at him. Sometimes Monroe forgot that Nick had the skills to match his detective badge, and those skills seemed pretty intact. "And in any case," Nick said, "packing a suitcase for somebody else requires a level of familiarity that we probably don't share anymore, ever since you forgot me."

This last was said surprisingly bluntly, if without any trace of malice, and Juliette winced. "You're right. It's just...the both of us have sort of given up on my memories ever coming back. We decided to start from the beginning, try to see where things went, but we just weren't clicking. And I think he was starting to—uh," Juliette coughed, glancing up at Monroe but looking away quickly, taking a sip of coffee to hide her expression. Huh?

"Anyway," she continued, "You...the other Nick actually said something the other day that felt pretty true—he said that we just weren't the same people we were when we first met three years ago. Those people fell in love, but it just wasn't happening with us. With me." Juliette fidgeted with her cup. "I think it was really hard on you...on Nick to see me remember my relationship with everyone else but him, and he'd been pulling away from me because of it. He'd just told me he was planning on moving out two nights ago, but then the morning after that was when he...you know," and she waved a hand in the general direction of her head.

After that, no one spoke for a very long moment.

"Wow, you were right," Monroe said, breaking the silence. "Having two amnesiacs in the same house really does make things awkward."

Nick and Juliette laughed, and the force of Nick's full-body jolt shook the table enough to make their coffee cups rattle around on the surface.

"Oh hey," Juliette said, surprised. She pointed at Nick's cup. "I've been looking for that mug. I haven't seen it in a while."

"It's, uh," Monroe said, and was suddenly and inexplicably nervous as they both looked over at him. "Nick's always coming over and drinking my coffee, so he, um. He brought it over one day. From home. To keep here." Nick gave Monroe a long, considering look that made Monroe's face heat. "The deal was, you're responsible for washing your own cup, if you're going to keep it here," Monroe blurted.

Juliette tried to hide a smile in her coffee cup again. Nick grinned, but his eyes lingered on Monroe in long stretches for the rest of Juliette's visit.

* * *

Hank dropped by later that morning, armed with baked goods.

"I couldn't remember what your favorites were, so I got one of everything. The bear claws are for Rosalee, she's coming over soon. And don't eat the cruller, that's mine," Hank said, dropping the enormous bag on the table and making a beeline for the coffee. Monroe made a halfhearted attempt to shoo Hank away from the coffeemaker, but Hank sidestepped him easily and poured out two cups of freshly brewed coffee. Monroe seriously needed to start charging money; these coffee beans weren't cheap.

Nick peered into the bag, but seemed totally stumped. "They all look pretty good? I don't know what I like."

"You like chocolate croissants the best," Monroe said absently, reaching up to take down some plates from the cabinet. "Or chocolate donuts. Or chocolate chip muffins. Just as long as there's chocolate somehow involved. Oh, but stay away from the Boston cremes, you have some sort of personal grudge against those. Something about custard," Monroe said, plates in hand, and turned around to see Nick smiling, on the edge of laughter, while Hank was examining his cruller with intense interest.

The warmth in Nick's grin made something in Monroe's chest twist.

"Eat your pastries over plates like civilized adults," Monroe muttered, putting them on the counter with a little too much force. "And _you_ ," he said, pointing an outraged finger at Hank, who jumped. "If I see you make a single move to dip that frosted monstrosity into my specially imported custom blend coffee, you are no longer invited in this house."

The doorbell rang, and Monroe went to let Rosalee in. "Hi, Nick. I smell bear claws, and they'd better be mine," she announced, walking into the kitchen. Hank solemnly passed her a cup of coffee and a plate with her rightful pastries.

"Wow, you could smell those?" Nick laughed. "That's some sense of smell you've got there, Rosalee."

Everyone stopped moving.

"I have...special bear claw detecting powers," Rosalee offered with a weak smile, trying to make it a joke. Monroe and Hank laughed dutifully, and Nick chuckled.

(It was actually true, though: Monroe had never met any other Wesen who could identify a pastry with the accuracy that Rosalee had. True skill right there.)

"And I guess it's easy to detect them when you can assume the guy you're dating is going to bring them to you every morning, right?" Nick said, voice sly, and everyone froze again.

"You guys...what?" Monroe tried to smile, but he wasn't sure it was working. Neither Hank or Rosalee were meeting his eyes. "Hey, that's great! I get why you didn't tell me, that's fine, that's. It's. Um."

"You didn't know?" Nick asked, surprised. He looked at Hank and Rosalee. "You didn't tell him?"

"We were going to," Hank said guiltily. "But it hasn't been that long, and we thought things might be complicated, since Monroe and Rosalee had a thing, not too long ago. Monroe, man, I'm sorry."

"Monroe and Rosalee were together?" Nick asked, alarmed.

"Briefly," Monroe said. He felt steadier, now that he'd had a moment to process, and...yeah. He was okay. "C'mon Hank, stop giving me the sad puppy eyes. You don't need to feel guilty, nobody did anything wrong here. We're cool, I promise."

"I...thanks, man," Hank sighed, shoulders coming back down from what had been a defensive hunch. Hank tried a tentative grin. "I guess this is as good a time as any to confess. While you were answering the door for Rosalee, I dipped my cruller in my coffee."

"Ugh, I'll allow it just this once, you philistine," Monroe groaned, and Hank laughed. The tension in the room broke completely, and everyone relaxed into their pastries and coffee, relieved.

"How are you feeling, Nick?" Rosalee asked. "Any better than yesterday?"

"I haven't remembered anything else, exactly," Nick said, finishing up the last bite of his croissant. "But Monroe's place feels pretty familiar, so there's that. The cut on my finger wasn't that deep, so it's healing up pretty quickly. And Juliette dropped by with my clothes, so I won't need to borrow anything from Monroe."

"Nothing of mine would fit you anyway, shorty," Monroe said, not thinking about Nick wearing his clothes. Not thinking about it. Not.

Nick grinned. "I'm gonna go take a shower," he said, dusting the crumbs from his hands and bringing his cup and plate to the sink. "I don't think I've showered in a day and a half."

"You definitely smell like it," Rosalee agreed, and Nick laughed as he left the kitchen.

The three of them made idle small talk while they listened to Nick climb upstairs to the bathroom. Once they were all sure that he was out of earshot, they changed topics abruptly.

"We were doing research at the shop all night, but we didn't find anything," Rosalee whispered, leaning forward over the table. Monroe and Hank leaned in, too. "I won't be able to figure anything out about what effects Adalind's spell might have on Nick without more resources. I need access to the books in Nick's trailer."

"So here's what I was thinking," Hank started eagerly. "Nick wears the key to the trailer around his neck, right? But I figure that he'll take it off to take a shower. Like he's doing right now. So Monroe walks into the bathroom, pretending to look for a roll of toilet paper or a magazine or something, and — "

"Hey, there will be no walking into bathrooms while people are showering," Monroe hissed, face warm. "And anyway—"

"All right, fine, I had another idea," Hank said. "Plan B is, Monroe distracts Nick with a train or, or a new sweater vest or something, and then I come up behind him and knock him unconscious—"

"He already has amnesia! What kind of friend are you?" Monroe dropped his head in his hands. "Ugh, we don't need to do any of that, because as I was _trying to tell you_ , I have a key to the trailer. Nick, he...made me a spare. Just in case."

"Yeah, Monroe, we figured," Rosalee said, smiling at him. "I think Hank's just winding you up now that he's sure you're not a jealous asshole."

Monroe glared at Hank, who only grinned back. He huffed and went to retrieve the spare key where he kept it hidden: taped to the back of the icemaker in the freezer.

"Is that really the safest place you could think of?" Rosalee asked doubtfully, taking the key from Monroe and warming it in her hands. "What about inside one of your clocks?"

"I'm a clockmaker, the first place anyone would look for a secret key would be in every one of my clocks," Monroe said. "Not much security there."

"Point," Rosalee conceded, and started gathering her things. "We'll be in the trailer doing research. We'll call you if we find something. You keep Nick safe. Don't let him go out—if word gets out that the Grimm has lost his memories, it'll be the three of us fending off attacks from every Wesen that wants to tear his heart out. Which is a lot of them, at this point."

"All right, I'll distract him with TV or something," Monroe said. "I've got Netflix. It'll be like Monday Movie Night, just...all day."

"You guys have a Movie Night?" Hank demanded. "How come I've never been invited? Rosie, have you—"

"We'll call you," Rosalee broke in, pushing Hank towards the front door.

Nick was coming down the stairs, toweling his hair. "Are you guys going already?" He was wearing red sweatpants ( _why_ ) and a white undershirt, the fabric sticking to his to his skin where it was still damp. Which was across his entire chest. And most of his abs. 

"Yeah, Hank's gotta go to work, and I have to open up the shop," Rosalee said. "You should rest up, Nick. Your memories will start coming back, I know it."

"I hope you get cleared to come back to work soon, man," Hank said, bumping a fist against Nick's shoulder. "Who knows what floppy-haired fool they'll partner me up with next if you don't come back?"

"I'll do my best," Nick said, smiling. He waved them goodbye and headed for the living room, toward his suitcase.

"Hey," Hank whispered, drawing closer. "Make sure you don't do the—you know." He curled his upper lip really unattractively and bared his teeth, using two fingers to point to his eyes. " _You know_."

"Yeah Hank, _I know_ ," Monroe hissed.

"Just sayin'," Hank muttered, tapping a fist against Monroe's shoulder as he walked out towards his car.

"Thanks, Monroe," Rosalee murmured right inside the door. "I'm sorry for not telling you about me and Hank."

"You've got nothing to be sorry about," Monroe said firmly. "It should have been up to the both of you to decide if and when you were going to tell me. I never had any sort of claim on you, even when we were together. I never thought that way. We, uh, both knew I wasn't completely committed to the relationship, anyway."

"Yeah," Rosalee said, eyes glancing into the living room where Nick was bent over at the waist, digging through his suitcase. Monroe was trying hard not to look. Her lips quirked, wry. "I know."

He made a face at her and shooed her out. She laughed at him the entire way to Hank's car.

* * *

When Monroe suggested that they stay in all day, Nick agreed easily. And didn't bother changing his clothes.

The sweatpants were worn and a little loose, deep maroon _red red red_ and soft-looking in that inviting way that made you want to run your palms all over them. Nick's undershirt stretched slightly over his shoulders and chest. The cloth was worn thin in places, and the dark circles of his nipples were just visible through the fabric if you looked hard enough. Not that Monroe was letting himself look.

When Monroe sat down on the sofa, Nick dropped down next to him, close enough that their knees brushed. Nick leaned back, which brought their bodies closer.

"Do you wanna watch some TV?" Monroe asked. His palms were sweaty as he grabbed the remote and tried to remember how to turn the power on. Nick's thigh pressed up more closely against Monroe's, heat bleeding through several layers of clothing. "I've got Netflix, we can watch _How It's Made_ —I think we were on season 4 or something—"

"I've noticed the way you look at me," Nick said suddenly, and Monroe fumbled the remote as the bottom dropped out of his stomach.

"I—" Monroe swallowed, panic rising quickly and threatening to fill his lungs. "I— I don't—"

"Or, I guess, the way you try not to look at me," Nick pushed on, ignoring him. "You watch my lips a lot, did you know that? And you've internalized little details about me. You know how I like my coffee. You know what pastries I like, in great detail. You know things about me my own partner doesn't. I'm gonna guess that you know me better than my own ex-girlfriend did even before the amnesia. You've made room for me in your home, in your _life_. And I'm sorry for breaking this to you, but I'm pretty sure everyone else knows how you feel about me. You probably aren't hiding anything, from anybody."

Monroe felt himself growing smaller and smaller as Nick talked, his shoulders hunching under the weight of each painful word. Because Nick wasn't supposed to know. Monroe had spent so much time brutally stomping on his feelings, even his _thoughts_ , making sure to keep them from his face, and he had been so certain it was working. And if Nick had figured him out so easily now, when he didn't have all his memories, then Nick must have—he must have known, before the amnesia, all this time, he must have figured it out a long time ago, and—

Nick dragged his knuckles against the grain of Monroe's beard. The electrifying tingle of it forced all the air from Monroe's lungs in one huge rush. "I've also noticed how I've been letting myself feel right at home in the space you've made for me. I've been bringing things from my place. There's my coffee cup, of course, but I noticed some hair products in your bathroom that I'm guessing are mine, and some DVDs on your shelf that don't really seem to fit what I'm assuming is your taste in movies. I gave you a spare set of keys to some secret trailer that's clearly important—yeah, I was listening in, don't look at me like that. It's clearly important, and secret, and you're the only one I've trusted enough to give a key to. We watch Netflix together on your couch, on Movie Night, which Hank is apparently not invited to...are you getting my point here, Monroe?"

"That...friends. Friends do that. I think. You're just jumping to assumptions. Uh, conclusions." Talking was difficult when Monroe was focusing all his attention on not thinking about Nick's hand on his face, the warm pressure of their legs pressed together. "You don't remember anything," he said. "I won't deny that you, uh. May be right. About me. But you can't—you can't know for sure that—that you actually—um." 

He couldn't say it. Monroe had spent so long not letting himself think about it that he didn't even have the words for it now, when it was finally—when he might finally—be allowed to have this. Maybe?

"Well, I definitely know what I'm feeling now," Nick said, bringing his hand up and shaping a palm to the back of Monroe's head. "As far as my memory is concerned, I've known you for barely a day. But when I look at you, when I think about you, there's this warm, familiar... _weight_ inside me. And I haven't stopped thinking about you since I woke up in the shop. Which was yesterday, by the way. That's not long enough to explain "just friends", much less the attachment I've been feeling for you for as long as I can remember—literally." Nick laughed out loud at the wince this brought to Monroe's face. He hitched himself even closer to Monroe on the couch, until he was practically sitting in his lap. "So I may not remember you, but I'm pretty sure I remember how I feel about you." 

Nick's voice had gone deeper, colored by a certainty that Monroe wanted to believe in—very, very badly.

"How," Monroe's throat clicked as he swallowed. "How does that even make any sense?"

"How does any of this make any sense?" Nick countered. "Amnesia doesn't work like this in the real world. I lose all my memories, but without any brain injury to trigger it? I forget everything about everyone in my life, but certain things still feel familiar? Things, I'll point out, that all have to do with you? It only happens like this in movies and TV. In stories. _Fairy tales_." He dragged his nails across the back of Monroe's neck, right along the hairline, pulling a broken noise out of Monroe's chest. Nick grinned, smug and triumphant.

 _And painfully, painfully hot_ , Monroe's own voice whispered in his head, breaking through the careful walls he had built around his own thoughts of Nick. His control had been fraying since yesterday, and letting that one traitorous thought slip past his defenses felt like a defeat.

"And further evidence that supports the fairy tale theory, as ridiculous as it seems," and here, holy crap, Nick levered himself up and over until he was straddling Monroe's lap. And, hands. Where was he supposed to put his hands? Nick solved this problem by dragging Monroe's hands up from where they gripped the couch cushions and pressing them flat against Nick's thighs. _Jesus_. Monroe focused so intently on not clenching down, not letting his nails lengthen, that it took longer than it should have to tune in to what Nick said next: "...Juliette's amnesia isn't normal, either. Who ever heard of an amnesia that erased just one person from someone's memory? And Rosalee hadn't been making a joke about her sense of smell. She totally panicked when I called her out on it. So did you and Hank. And let's not even get to Rosalee's "spice shop"—I definitely saw some weird things on the shelves before you guys hustled me out of there. Also, your eyes are kind of red right now, and you've been getting kind of hairier for the past few minutes, which I'm gonna guess is what Hank warned you not to show me."

 _Dammit_. Monroe squeezed his eyes shut and forced down the Woge, smothering it until he felt it recede completely. Fuck. How was he going to explain this? There was nowhere to hide, here. There was no way Nick was going to believe any of his denials now, at this point.

Monroe opened his eyes slowly, cautiously.

Nick...seemed totally unfazed. He even had his smug face back on. "See? Fairy tale. I was right." He ducked his head and dragged his cheek across the angle of Monroe's jaw. "A kiss," Nick murmured into Monroe's neck, making him shiver hard. "Isn't that how fairy tales usually go?" On the other side, Nick's thumb stroked circles into the skin right below Monroe's ear. "It's worth a shot, right?"

"And if it doesn't work?" Monroe's voice croaked, broken. "What if it doesn't work? What if you don't remember? Or, god, if you _do_ remember, but you're wrong, and you don't feel the same way I do, after all. What am I gonna do if—"

"Just trust me," Nick murmured, lifting his head and looking Monroe in the eyes. "This is gonna work. I can feel it."

The absolute conviction in Nick's voice made something in Monroe's chest relax. It gave Monroe the courage to take a deep breath and rest their foreheads together.

"Whether or not you feel the same way after this...you'd better remember me, Nick," Monroe whispered, voice shaky, leaning in.

"I will," Nick promised quietly, and kissed him.

The first kiss was mostly just a brush of their lips against each other, but the shock of it punched a tiny, relieved burst of air out of Monroe anyway. He felt Nick smile against his mouth, moving his lips in a final sweet press, and the kiss ended with the barest touch of Nick's tongue against the corner of his mouth.

The second kiss started with the push of Nick's tongue against Monroe's lips, coaxing his mouth open and sweeping inside. The wet heat of it made Monroe's breath hitch, leaving his lungs in a long, heartfelt groan. He buried both hands in Nick's hair, using his grip to draw him closer, and Nick did the same with his hands in Monroe's hair. The kiss ended with Monroe's gasp at the drag of Nick's blunt nails against his scalp.

The third kiss was desperate and biting. Nick sucked eagerly on Monroe's lip and thrust his tongue in, flicking it against the roof of his mouth. Monroe dragged his hands down from the back of Nick's head to his ass in one rough sweep, squeezing hard. Nick's mouth dropped open in a soundless gasp, and Monroe took Nick's bottom lip between his teeth, biting down a little too hard. Nick jumped and let out a surprised hiss. He went suddenly still, his grip on Monroe's hair going slack. Monroe smoothed his tongue apologetically over the bite, trying not to pant over that little taste of blood. After a worrying moment, Nick was spurred back into action. He moaned gratefully and tilted his head so their mouths meshed at an even better angle. He moved his hands from Monroe's head to grab at the back of the couch, giving him the leverage to press closer, down into Monroe's lap, which was—it was—

Monroe pulled back, breathing hard, and looked anxiously into Nick's eyes. They were dark and heavy-lidded, the heat in them making Monroe burn in the best way, but he couldn't tell if they actually remembered him any better than before. _Did it work?_ He wanted to ask, but he couldn't push the words past his throat.

"Hi," Nick said into the space between them, breaking the silence. He grinned. "...I remember you."

Monroe sagged in relief, collapsing back against the couch and pulling Nick with him. He wrapped his arms around Nick tightly, breathing into his neck. Unless— "Wait, wait," Monroe said, dropping his arms. "Is this...is this okay?" He swallowed, bracing himself for Nick's answer. "Are you...um. Do you want...?"

"Yes," Nick said. He grasped the back of Monroe's neck with one hand, squeezing gently. "I am. Yes, I want. _Have_ wanted. Seriously, how have you not noticed?"

Monroe's indignant spluttering was cut off by Nick's mouth crashing into his. After a brief moment with too many teeth, Monroe swiped his tongue along the seam of Nick's lips, and Nick opened up for him immediately, easy as anything.

"Wait, wait," Monroe panted, pulling away. "Do you remember everything else, too?"

Nick rolled his eyes. Monroe didn't have time to be offended, though, because Nick started taking off his undershirt. "Detective Nick Burkhardt, Portland PD, badge number 8-0-5-6-3," he rattled off, voice briefly muffled as he pulled the shirt over his head. "I'm a Grimm; you're a Blutbad; my Aunt Marie—"

"Okay, stop," Monroe broke in. "Seriously, that is the very last time you mention Marie Kessler while you're this close to humping my leg, I mean it."

At that moment, Monroe's cell phone decided to ring. They both froze. On the second ring, Monroe jerked into action, fumbling it out of his pocket.

"Uh, hey, Rosalee," Monroe answered, trying not to sound like Nick was half-naked in his lap.

"Monroe, we think we figured it out!" Rosalee said, excited. "It's so simple. Nick just has to—"

Nick grabbed the phone. "Yeah, broke the spell with a kiss, we worked it out on our own, thanks guys, bye," Nick said. He ended the call and dropped the phone onto the cushions beside them, redirecting his attention to sucking on Monroe's tongue while his hands scrabbled at the hem of his sweater.

They had just about managed to wrestle one of Monroe's elbows from a sleeve, his head still trapped somewhere inside, when the phone rang again. They both groaned in exasperation.

"Guys, it's fine, true love's kiss or whatever, I have my memories back—" Monroe heard Nick bite out, but he was interrupted by a shout so loud that Monroe heard it clearly through the layers of his clothing.

" **I knew it!** " Monroe heard Hank whoop in the background of the phone call. Monroe finally popped his head free of the sweater and flung it on the ground. Nick was frozen, listening to someone—Rosalee?—talk at a more reasonable volume on the phone. "Uh huh," Nick said, voice strange. "Okay. No, I'm, uh, I'm fine. Well, it worked out in the end, right? Right. I'll, uh. We'll drop by the shop later to catch up with you guys and pick up the key to the trailer. Thanks. Bye."

Nick ended the call but stared at the phone for a little while longer. He looked...sheepish? "What's wrong?" Monroe asked, breaking Nick out of his staring contest with Monroe's cell phone.

"Oh," Nick jumped and dropped the phone. He cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable, and a lump of dread started growing in the pit of Monroe's stomach. "It's just, Rosalee and Hank—well, mostly Rosalee—figured out pretty quickly how to break Adalind's spell."

"A kiss, right?" Monroe asked.

"Not exactly," Nick said. "Uh. Not at all, actually."

What? " _What?_ " Monroe said out loud.

"Well, so," Nick said, fidgeting on Monroe's lap. He didn't make any move to climb off, though, which was a good sign. "From what they worked out, Adalind's plan seems to have been for you to cut yourself on the clock and fall asleep, then be cured but lose your memories, like Juliette."

"Yeah, I worked that out myself," Monroe said, tense.

"Well...the spell specifically targeted your memories of me. You would have forgotten everything about the time we spent together. The course of our entire friendship. So when you woke up, disoriented, and the first thing you saw was a Grimm..."

"I would have attacked you," Monroe said, horrified. "I would have Woge'd out and gone for your throat with my teeth, before you had any idea what was happening. I would have killed you right then and there."

"Right," Nick said grimly. "But that's when the spell would have been broken. You would have gotten back your memories just as I was probably bleeding to death in front of you. Because the antidote for the spell, as Rosalee and Hank figured out, is my blood."

Monroe's eyes immediately zeroed in on the cut on Nick's lip, where Monroe had drawn blood during their kiss. He suddenly remembered: Nick had seemed to freeze right when things were getting seriously heated...

"Wait, wait," Monroe said, hit with a sudden realization. "The antidote is your own blood? So all you had to do was stick your bloody finger in your mouth and _poof_ , the spell would have been broken?"

"Yup," Nick said. "Sounds like it."

They stared at each other for a long moment, Nick still perched on Monroe's lap.

"Your fairy tale theory was pretty good, considering the information you had to go on," Monroe started to offer solicitously, before Nick covered his mouth with a firm hand.

"I'm just going to accept that I'm never going to hear the end of this from Hank and Rosalee, so let's just agree that my idea to break the spell was, in the end, the best idea I've ever had, okay?" Nick took his hand away and kissed Monroe deeply, pressing his weight down and squeezing with his thighs. Nick dragged his nails gently down Monroe's chest, making him whine and arch into the touch. Nick was making a very good point, Monroe had to admit.

"Agreed," Monroe panted, grinning. "No arguments here, nope."

* * *

They did, however, argue over whether to stay on the couch (Nick) or move upstairs to the bed (Monroe):

"Dude, my back is gonna kill me if we stay on the couch."

"Monroe," Nick said, biting at the curve of his ear. "I've spent the last few months of Movie Nights thinking about blowing you right here on this couch, and it is _going to happen_ , sooner rather than later."

"Hrngh."

They made it to the bedroom eventually, stumbling up the stairs and pressing each other up against the walls along the way. When they finally heaved themselves onto the bed, Monroe leaned up on his hands to actually _look_ at Nick, sprawled across his sheets. The rumpled bedhead thing was a particularly good look on him, no surprise there. His eyes and mouth were doing that half-lidded, smirky thing, which—Monroe was starting to realize—might always have been a deliberate, ingenious tactic to drive him completely crazy. Nick's chest was mottled with bite marks, and Monroe knew that his own was just as enthusiastically marked from Nick’s mouth. The gentle jut of Nick's hip bones were visible above the edge of his red sweatpants. The tent in front jerked slightly while he watched, like a red flag goading him on. There was a damp spot where Nick must already be so wet it was soaking through the fabric.

"Are you kidding me with these sweatpants? Were you _trying_ to make me snap?" Monroe muttered, tugging the waistband down and holy crap, Nick wasn't wearing anything underneath.

“Pretty much,” Nick grinned, totally unrepentant. "Even without my memories, I just somehow knew that the red thing would get to you." He kicked his pants to the foot of the bed and stretched, showing off. Monroe knew he was being manipulated, but it didn’t stop the hot stab of _want_ from twisting his insides. He ducked his head to rub his face against Nick’s flat belly and mouth at the skin there. Encouraged by Nick’s appreciative hiss of breath, Monroe dragged his beard down, down, along the top of a thigh, close enough to breathe against Nick’s cock but not touch it. Nick gasped quietly and dropped a hand to Monroe’s head, pushing with only the barest pressure, as if he couldn’t stop himself.

“Can I?” Monroe asked, glancing up the bed. Nick’s wild-eyed, desperate panting was, Monroe had to admit, pretty damn heady. And gratifying.

“ _Yes_ ,” Nick said, voice breaking. “Yeah, Monroe, come on—“ and groaned helplessly, hand clenching in the sheets, when Monroe lifted Nick’s leg by the knee to turn his head and suck a line of biting kisses into Nick’s inner thigh. He licked a wet stripe across Nick’s balls, making them draw up tight. He lifted first one, then the other ball with his tongue, letting them drop from his mouth, heavy and wet. He moved up higher, sucking a kiss to the base of Nick’s cock, but not going any further, and then, just…left his mouth there, waiting.

“Okay,” Nick finally broke, sounding on the edge of panic, “okay, I get your point, I shouldn’t have tried to break your control by being such a fucking tease, but please, Monroe, pl _aaah_ —“ 

Monroe dragged his tongue up Nick’s cock and sucked around the head, letting go of Nick’s leg to wrap his fingers around the root of him. Nick sank both hands into Monroe’s hair and tried to push up on reflex, but Monroe dropped a hand onto Nick’s stomach, pinning Nick’s hips in place with very little effort. The move earned him a spurt of precome across his tongue, and he swallowed it down, the taste thick in his mouth. He started a quick rhythm, sucking Nick in with every stroke and moving his hand in time.

“I’m not gonna last, Monroe,” Nick half-laughed, half-groaned. Monroe moaned around him and started to rut against the bed, moving his mouth faster. It was sloppy, with zero finesse, but Nick’s labored breathing and the incredible noises that were coming out of him were a good indication that he didn’t seem to mind. In what seemed like no time at all, Nick was pushing at his head, trying to warn him off. Monroe just pressed closer, squeezed a little tighter, used his shoulders to spread Nick’s thighs a little wider. Nick’s body jerked while a hand still kept his hips locked in place, his voice breaking on a series of sobbing shouts as he came and came and Monroe swallowed him down.

Monroe moved up the bed and collapsed next to Nick, both of them breathing hard. Nick turned and pulled him into a panting kiss, and Monroe whimpered at the way Nick licked his own taste from Monroe’s tongue. Monroe was still rock hard in his pants, fly open and belt undone. Nick thrust an eager hand into his underwear and pumped him once, twice, _fuck_ , before helping him shove his clothing down past his knees and completely off. He pulled Monroe on top of him until they were pressed together from chest to knees, legs tangled together in the sheets.

“Whatever you want,” Nick murmured into Monroe’s mouth. “What do you want me to do for you?”

Monroe gaped a little, mouth opening and closing silently a few times. He was completely torn. “I don’t…I don’t know,” he admitted. “I haven’t really thought about it.” Nick stilled. At his look of slightly hurt confusion, Monroe said hurriedly, “I mean. I haven't really let myself think about it. It was part of my routine, I guess. All the structure was supposed to help me keep my mind off the things I w-wanted but couldn’t let myself have.” Monroe winced and closed his eyes. Ugh, that damn wobble in his voice.

His eyes flew open when Nick grabbed both sides of his face in his hands. “Well, now you have me,” Nick said fiercely, pulling Monroe in. “And you can have me however you want, so you’d better start thinking all the things we're gonna do to each other. Starting now.” He dragged Monroe into a kiss, hooking a leg around his thigh and pulling their hips together. Monroe gasped at the contact, thrusting helplessly into the warm, damp crease where Nick's thigh joined his body.

"Like this," Monroe panted, "this is pretty perfect."

Nick snaked a hand down and squeezed Monroe's cock.

"Or like that," Monroe groaned. "That's really great, too." Nick grinned and moved his hand in long twisting pulls, thumb and forefinger squeezing the tip on every upstroke. Monroe pushed into his grip, and it was so good, he was so close, but...

Of course, Nick just seemed to know, because he turned his head to the side and bared his neck.

"Can I," Monroe pleaded, staring, feeling his eyes bleed red, unable to stop it. "Can I—"

"Do it," Nick said, hand speeding up. "Do it, I want you to, I think about it all the— _fffuck_ —"

Monroe bit down, keeping his teeth blunt and not drawing blood but biting down hard, whimpering halfway between Nick's neck and shoulder as he marked him, _mine_. Nick arched beneath him and shouted, his thumb pressing hard against Monroe's slit on one last tight stroke, and Monroe came, into Nick's hands, onto Nick's stomach, his growl muffled by the skin of Nick's neck between his teeth. 

As he started to get his breath back, Monroe let go of Nick's neck and flopped down next to him for the second time, dazed. "How's it look?" Nick asked, twisting his head around as if he could look at his own neck.

"It's, uh," Monroe said intelligently. He stroked a thumb over the double arch of red divots, tracing their shape. "It looks good on you." Nick laughed, and Monroe buried his smile in Nick's shoulder. He felt something inside himself shift a quarter-turn, a tiny piece finally clicking into place. Monroe hummed, mind whirring quietly, letting himself think about the next time.


End file.
